


Damsel in Distress

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon is the damsel in distress, Cliche Plot Kinda, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nobody Actually Dies, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brendon had been gone for hours, Ryan was somewhat in denial that something had happened to him, until he had to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damsel in Distress

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from.

Ryan paced through the living room of the house, watching the sky grow darker through the windows.  He was having a dilemma, a mix of irritation and worry, and his fingers closed around the phone in his back pocket for probably the tenth time that night.  Brendon had been out for hours, on a trip to run errands, but he was due home early in the afternoon.  The sun was almost all the way down now, Ryan observed.

 

Brendon wasn't answering his phone, hadn't called or sent any text messages, and that was just so fucking  _ bitchy _ of Brendon to do.  Ryan didn't know what the hell he did this time to piss Brendon off, but he assumed Brendon had decided to be mad at him about something and just ignore him all night.  Ryan's birthday was in a few days, and Ryan knew that the whole reason Brendon had even gone out that day was to buy him something, but Ryan figured Brendon was passive aggressive enough to get angry at Ryan about whatever while he was away.

 

That still didn't call for him to not check in, and to work up Ryan's worry to the maximum about him—of course, Ryan could see past Brendon being moody and realize something could have happened to him, something worse than him getting upset—the least Brendon could do would be to reply to a text.

 

Ryan knew it wasn't all that likely that Brendon was hurt, but he couldn't help but think about it. If only Brendon would call him back, he would get some peace of mind, even if they did fight . . .

 

Earlier, Ryan sent him sweet voicemails, asking what time he'd be home, if there was anything he wanted Ryan to make for dinner.  But then, as it grew later and he still hadn't replied, Ryan was snippier in his messages, asking what on earth Brendon could be doing out so late.

 

He really wasn't trying to be clingy or controlling—but he was worried as to why Brendon wasn't responding, why Brendon wasn't home.

 

In a last resort, desperate attempt, Ryan pulled out his phone to try calling him again, but as he was doing so, the screen lit up with an incoming call.  The number was unfamiliar, but Ryan answered anyway, hoping for it to be something about Brendon.

 

“Hello?” He said, voice flat and teetering into demanding.

 

“Ryan?” The voice on the other end replied, obviously Brendon.

 

“Brendon, where the fuck—?”

 

Ryan was cut off by Brendon's voice coming through the phone again, with a clear, shaky whimper of, “Baby?”

 

The tone sent chills up Ryan's spine, made his stomach drop, and he knew something was wrong, something was definitely wrong, but he tried his best to keep it together.  “Yeah, it's me,” Ryan said, voice softer.  His irritation was gone, since something instinctual told him something had happened to Brendon, something bad.  “What's wrong, B?” Ryan asked, keeping his voice calm.

 

“Ryan, I'm—” Brendon said, his voice shaking, and he choked—“I'm not coming home, I d-don't think I'll make it through this.”

 

Ryan felt the same shiver go up his spine, stronger, but he tried to tell himself that things may not have been as serious as Brendon was saying, Brendon could be drunk, Brendon could be acting dramatic and only be minorly injured, but Ryan was already reaching for the landline phone.  “What’re you talking about?” Ryan said.

 

“They—they took me, and—and I don't know what they're doing with me, b-but, they're going to kill me, Ryan, Ryan—”

 

Ryan had already called 911 on the landline before Brendon finished speaking.

 

“You're going to be okay, B,” Ryan said, wishing his voice sounded more soothing than it did.  Into the other phone, he quickly explained, “I think my boyfriend’s been kidnapped, and it sounds like he's in danger, I have him on the phone with me.”

 

“Ry-Ryan, I'm so s-scare—scared,” Brendon’s voice came, and Ryan's heart rate picked up, feeling nearly the same emotion as Brendon.

 

“We’re going to find you, you're going to be okay, my love, it's going to be okay.”

 

“Can you give us a location?” The operator asked Ryan.

 

“Sweetheart, where are you?  Can you tell me where you are so we can come get you?” Ryan asked.

 

“I-I don't know, I'm n-not allowed to say anything,” Brendon said.

 

“No,” Ryan answered to the operator.

 

“Find out where he was taken, and how long ago that was,” the operator said.

 

“Where were you when they took you?  When did it happen?” Ryan asked, remaining gentle but losing his calmness.

 

“The-the mall, you know, the one close to us, a-and I think it was only t-ten m-minutes ago, I d-don't know.”

 

“Thank you,” Ryan said, and conveyed that to the operator.

 

“Why're you calling me, Brendon?  Can you call the police so they can track you?”

 

“Th-they said th-they w-wanted you to h-hear me d-die,” Brendon said, shakier than ever.

 

Ryan's heart pounded in his ears, and his emotions were everywhere, with the need to protect Brendon, the fear, the anger.  “He can't call you,” Ryan told 911, and the words coming from his mouth made the fear part spike.

 

He couldn't let Brendon die.

 

“Ask him to describe what he sees, and hopefully we can start searching from there,” the operator said.

 

“Tell me what it looks like outside,” Ryan said, instead.  “I'm going to come fucking find you, okay?”

 

“O-okay.  We-we’re on a dirt road, in, like, th-this forest, lots of trees, there's a railroad track, we’re kinda following it, I—I think we’re close to the mall still, the car is, like, a-a silver—”

 

Brendon's words were put out by a loud  _ bang _ , immediately followed by Brendon yelping in apparent pain.  That was a gunshot, Ryan knew, and he dropped the landline phone without realizing it.

 

“Brendon?  Brendon!  Are you there?  Brendon, please answer—” Ryan begged, terrified of Brendon being shot.

 

“Ryan,” Brendon sobbed, “ _ Ryan _ .”  Ryan's fingertips went numb at the relief of hearing Brendon's voice.

 

“I'm here, baby boy, are you okay?” Ryan asked, and he realized he was sitting in front of the steering wheel of his car, ready to leave and go find Brendon.

 

“Ryan, I love you—” Brendon cried, and suddenly the line was dead, nothing to be heard, not even Brendon's heavy breathing.

 

Shit.

 

With his heart racing, and throat closing up with tears, Ryan sped out of the driveway and down the street, in the general direction of where he thought Brendon might be.  He couldn't wait any longer.  He had to go find Brendon himself, or at least try.  Somehow, he had to stop whoever took Brendon before they killed him, before it was too late.

 

Ryan was completely terrified, and it showed in his driving.  He wove his way through traffic, going well over the speed limit, all the way to the mall.  Along the road ran a railroad track, and Ryan followed it, swerving around turns.  It took him back onto a dirt road, into the woods, and he knew he was going the right way, in the direction of Brendon.

 

Without anyone else around, he pressed on the gas pedal hard, the only sound to be heard was the tires on gravel.  There were already tire marks on the road from previous cars, and Ryan knew one of them had taken Brendon with it.  He knew his time was limited, that he had to catch up soon, or else—or else Brendon would be dead.

 

Yet at the slightest sound, he slammed on the breaks, jolting his chest forward over the steering wheel before the car stopped.  With the engine not making any noise, he could make out what the sound was.

 

Hoarse cries and screams of, “Help me!” filled the air as Ryan flung himself out of the car, and they sounded delirious, but they sounded like Brendon, so Ryan was sprinting towards it.  The sound of the cries meant Brendon was alive, and outside of a car, which gave Ryan a better chance of getting to him.

 

“Brendon?” He called, his voice cracking.

 

Faintly he heard his own name shouted back, and he ran faster.

 

The sight of Brendon's figure came into Ryan's view, but it was not where Ryan wanted to see him, not at all.

 

Brendon was strewn across the railroad tracks, laid on his back, rope tangled around his body.  The entire lower half of his body seemed to be soaked in blood.  There was nobody else around, which Ryan thought was strange, if whoever had taken Brendon had wanted to kill him.

 

He dropped to his knees in front of Brendon, hesitant to touch him due to all the blood.  He didn't want to accidentally touch a wound.  “Brendon, oh, fuck, please tell me you're okay.”

 

Brendon shook his head.  “I'm not gonna make it, Ryan, I'm going to die.”

 

“No, that doesn't make sense, you're right here, I've got you, we can get you help,” Ryan rambled, looking at Brendon’s tear and dirt streaked face.

 

“Ryan.  There's a train coming, I can't move,” Brendon whispered.

 

“How do you know?” Ryan asked, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“The tracks are vibrating.”

 

Ryan's hands flew to the ropes around Brendon's ankles, looped around the steel tracks, and he could immediately feel it.  Sprung into action, Ryan started working at the knot.  He could free Brendon in time, and it would all be okay.

 

“I've got you, B, everything's okay, lover,” Ryan assured, freeing one of Brendon's ankles, trying to unravel his blood-covered leg from the rope.

 

Brendon let out a whine.  “I'm sorry, baby.  I love you, I love you,” Brendon said, and Ryan shook his head, starting on Brendon's other leg.

 

The dinging of a bell was heard by both of them, loudly, along with the beginning of wheels and gears on the tracks.  Ryan looked up for a split second to see, sure enough, a train hurtling down the tracks, still in the distance.  His blood felt frozen in his veins as he watched Brendon burst into tears again, and his own fingers fumble with the rope.

 

“I love you so much, Ryan, you're the love of my life,” Brendon managed, over the growing volume of the train.

 

Ryan tugged on the ropes around Brendon's torso, loosening them but not fully able to get them off.  Leaning over Brendon's body, he hooked his fingers in one of the biggest knots to undo it.

 

The train was getting closer and closer, definitely not slowing down, and Brendon was still crying.  Ryan was doing everything he could, but even he was beginning to see that it wasn't going to be enough to get Brendon out in time.

 

“I was going to get a puppy for your birthday,” Brendon blurted out, through his tears.

 

“I love you,” Ryan choked back.  He only had a few more seconds, he knew, before his love would be dead, trampled under the wheels—

 

One knot came loose, and another went with it, cutting Ryan's work in half.  He only had Brendon's right wrist to free, and then it would be okay, everything would be fine, Brendon would live, but the train.  The train was too close, Ryan thought, still frantically trying to get the knot undone, although tears were fogging up his vision.

 

It was only feet away, now, and Ryan wasn't even sure if the knot was loose around Brendon's wrist, but he wrapped his arms around Brendon's waist and pulled, just as the train flew by his place in the dirt, right next to the tracks.  His body went numb as soon as his eyes closed, because he knew he couldn't take seeing Brendon getting hit by a train, his body getting crushed and mangled under the wheels.

 

He laid back, hyperventilating, unaware of anything except the noise of the train, the world black.  His mind was nearly consumed with the thought of what the blood on the tracks would look like when the train had passed, if there would even be any skin left there, of the boy he was in love with, of Brendon.

 

It was only when he started crying that he became aware of his surroundings again.

 

The body on top of him.  The fingers curled into fists, clutching at his shirt.  The tears soaking the skin of his neck that weren't his own.  The blood dripping onto his pants.

 

His eyes flew open to be met with a head full of raven hair.  He could hear sobbing, Brendon sobbing.

 

Brendon was in his arms, tightly, laying in the dirt as the train flew by behind them.  Ryan managed to sit up, still holding Brendon, who was hiding his face in his chest.  The boy was shaking and bleeding and gasping, but he was there.  Alive.  And Ryan was holding him.

 

Ryan began crying, in pure relief.  That had been too close.  He had been way too close to losing Brendon.  Brendon clung to him, and Ryan didn't move any more, just savoring that Brendon was there.

 

As tears streamed down Ryan's face, Brendon stopped crying, only shuddering and whimpering.  His grip on Ryan's shirt loosened, but he didn't move away at all, face pressed into Ryan's collarbone, legs collapsed between Ryan's own.  Ryan’s breathing slowed down, although he wasn't fully calm yet.

 

The sound of sirens filled the air, disturbing them, and an ambulance parked on the dirt road in front of them.  As medics jumped out of the vehicle, Ryan slipped a hand under Brendon's legs, hefting him up over one hip.  Ryan carried him, Brendon's legs and arms wound around him.

 

The medics were quick to take Brendon out of his arms, and pull Ryan onto the ambulance as well.  Aside from being shaken up by the whole ordeal, Ryan was physically fine.  Brendon was the one who needed the care.

 

Due to the gunshot wound, Brendon was losing a lot of blood.

 

In fact, Ryan was informed, he was rapidly bleeding out, which accounted for the weakness and silence after everything they’d been through.

 

Ryan's adrenaline shot back up with the fear of Brendon slipping away again.  He could remain close to Brendon on the ride to the hospital, watching everyone try to stop the bleeding as Brendon faded in and out of consciousness.

 

Emergency surgery was needed, Ryan was told.  Everything happened in a blur until he was seated in the hospital waiting room, Brendon far away from him, out of his sight.  The surgery would take a few hours, and they were easily the longest hours of Ryan's life.

 

He could only hope everything was going smoothly, that they could help Brendon recover.  Brendon had to survive; Ryan didn't know what he would do if he didn't.  He couldn't take a life without Brendon in it.   The worry was mixed with anger at the people who had taken Brendon, the unidentified faces who had done this to Ryan's boy.

 

Anger didn't describe it, no.  Ryan felt a murderous rage in him at the idea of someone hurting Brendon, as they had done.  Ryan was going to kill whoever did this to him, if he ever found out.

 

Everything was an unknown as he waited for news on Brendon.  The anticipation was driving him up the wall.  The news would either be horrible, telling him that Brendon didn't make it, that they couldn't save him, that Ryan couldn't have saved him, or it would be telling him that he could see Brendon again.  He wished for the latter, hysterically.

 

It was one in the morning when he was told Brendon was waking up in a recovery room.  He was lead back to a private hospital room, where there were nurses and doctors surrounding the hospital bed where Brendon lay.  His eyes were cloudy but open, his skin was pale but not ashen.  Ryan's knees felt weak at seeing him, seeing that he was okay.

 

The doctors were asking him basic questions to test his memory, make sure that was intact, and were switching over to talk about how his leg felt when Brendon caught sight of Ryan in the doorway.  “It doesn't feel bad if I don't look at it,” Brendon said, gesturing languidly to his right thigh under the covers, where the bullet had gone through the skin.  He looked up, and his glassy eyes met Ryan's.   “Ryan, gorgeous, come cuddle with me,” Brendon said, in front of everyone, topic changing.

 

Ryan knew the behavior was from the anesthesia in his system, post surgery.  He meant to laugh at Brendon's comment, but it came out as a sob, filled with happiness that Brendon was okay.  Brendon had answered well enough for the doctors to know he was going to recover normally, and they all left Ryan and Brendon alone.

 

Brendon was loopy, out of it, but he reached for Ryan as Ryan approached him.  “Hi, baby boy,” Ryan said, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid Brendon's wound.

 

“Lay with me.  I want to go back to sleep,” Brendon said, and Ryan did so, wrapping an arm around Brendon's chest.

 

“Sleep as much as you want.  I know you need it,” Ryan whispered, and he was dozing off himself before even Brendon.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Brendon stayed in the hospital until he could stand from a wheelchair, and manage to limp around some on his injured leg.  The bullet wound would heal, and he would be back to his regular, bouncy self, but it would take time.

 

They filed a police report, and that was the only time Ryan heard Brendon talk about what had happened.  He provided a description of his abductors, and Ryan hoped those people suffered a long, long time before they died.

 

Two men had taken Brendon from the parking garage of the mall as soon as he'd gotten there, shoved him in a car, and beaten him around while he was helpless and tied up.  They kept him in the dark for a few hours, to confuse him and keep him unknowing of his surroundings.  Eventually, they moved the car and kept him in the backseat, a gun to his head, and made him call Ryan.  When Brendon started talking about what he could see, the men knew they were going to be caught, and shot Brendon in the leg.

 

Understandably, Brendon was traumatized.  He was afraid to leave Ryan's side, so Ryan, of course, made sure he was always with him, and he didn't want anyone to be too close to him, unless it was Ryan.  Ryan had been there to protect and save him before anyone else, and that explained that.

 

Brendon was frightened easily, even in the hospital, but Ryan was always there to rub his back and assure him he was safe, that everything was okay.

 

It only got worse when he was allowed to leave, to come home.  He sat in the passenger seat, while Ryan drove, and he was trembling like a leaf the whole time.  Ryan held his hand, but he wouldn't look up from the floor.  “You're okay, sweetheart, I'm here, it's just me,” Ryan soothed.

 

“Are we almost home?” Brendon whispered.

 

“Almost, B, I promise,” Ryan said, and kissed Brendon's hand.

 

He whimpered when they went over bumps, or when Ryan stopped too fast.  Ryan thumbed over the knuckles of Brendon's hand, trying to distract him.  When they were finally home, Brendon practically jumped out of the car.  He nearly stumbled when he put too much weight on his leg, but Ryan steadied him, with hands around his waist.

 

A car whipped down the street in front of their house, and Brendon turned around to push his face into Ryan's neck.  “Shh, my love, you're alright,” Ryan said, trailing his fingers down Brendon's back.

 

“I'm sorry I'm like this,” Brendon mumbled.

 

“Don't apologize, B, I'm here to take care of you.  We can go cuddle in our bed, and you'll be completely away from everything you don't want to be around.  How does that sound?” Ryan asked.

 

“Good,” Brendon nodded.

 

Ryan placed a hand on the small of Brendon's back to help him limp inside.  “I'll stop being so scared one day,” Brendon said.

 

“Take your time, sweetheart.  I understand.”

 

“I love you,” Brendon said, wedging himself underneath all the sheets and blankets.

 

“I love you, too,” Ryan said, pulling Brendon close before he could do it himself.

 

“Will you wake me up if I have nightmares?” Brendon asked.

 

“Always,” Ryan said, stroking Brendon's hair, “but I want you to have good dreams.”  He kissed Brendon's forehead.  “You're really safe, I'm holding you, you're not going anywhere . . .” Ryan spoke relaxing words until Brendon fell asleep, a look of contentment on his face, and Ryan knew this was the only time he would be getting that look for a long while.

 

Ryan let himself fall asleep in Brendon's arms, too.


End file.
